Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder.

What would it have been like if I had a younger sibling? In my past life, I only had an older brother, so as the youngest, I never really understood that feeling.

If I had a younger sibling, I’d take really good care of them.

On top of that, I’d love to treat them to snacks and play with them.

People with younger siblings around me didn’t seem to get along too well with them.

But since I’ve always been the youngest, I probably have a bit of a fantasy about having a sibling.

A younger brother would be fine, but I wanted a younger sister. There were so many men in our house already.

In other words, I kind of needed a bit of balance. Yeah, that’s it.

Anyway, the reason I’m rambling on about this is because I’m finally getting a sibling of my own.

I found that out just now because of the scream I heard from my parents’ bedroom.

My mom’s shrill scream, so loud it felt like it was ripping through the air, immediately jolted me upright from my bed.

I’m only four years old, but I’ve been sleeping separately from my parents because I wanted it that way, and they’ve been really sad about it.

I didn’t tell them it was because of the discomfort I felt because of my previous parents. So, I just brushed it off.

Still half-asleep, I dragged myself out of bed.

Suddenly, the movement made me dizzy and lightheaded, but I ignored it.

I stumbled to the door, grabbed the handle, and then…

“AAAHH! Honey!”

Mom’s scream from outside the door was so desperate, it almost sounded like it was breaking her.

It was probably because of her weak body from birth. And this happened even before I was born…

‘No. Stop thinking that way.’

I was born fine, right? Though, thanks to Mom’s genetics, I was also weak, but…

‘No need to worry.’

“It’s okay! The ambulance will be here soon!”

“Ughh… Haah!”

“Just a little longer. Hang in there, it’ll be fine… it’ll be fine…”

Dad’s comforting voice and Mom’s heavy breathing made it impossible for me to open the door.

Would it be the right choice to open this door and go to their room?

What if I just end up disturbing them, like in my past life, and get scolded again?

I knew my parents wouldn’t do that, but the memories etched into my soul were interfering with my actions.

‘…I have to go. I have to.’

Though I thought that, my trembling hands lacked the strength.

Clench.

I bit my teeth down hard and forced my hand to apply pressure.

Click!

I turned the handle and quickly opened the door.

Mom wasn’t doing well. Dad was taking her to the hospital, and she was too weak to move.

I’d heard that when I was born, Mom was carried into the ambulance as well.

The thought of it made my heart race with panic.

By the time I reached their room, the door was already open, so the scene inside was fully visible.

Mom was crying, covered in cold sweat, and Dad was the same.

“Damn it! Why isn’t it here yet—! Ha, Ha-eun?”

Dad, who had been anxiously glancing between the window and the door, finally noticed me.

He seemed to hesitate at first but then stayed still when he realized Mom was in there.

Instead, he waved his hand at me and gave a strained smile.

“...Why are you up so early? It’s still night, son.”

He spoke in a deliberately calm tone, probably knowing that I was worried.

Dad was always kind and warm, like the spring sun. Mom, too, was like cherry blossoms in spring.

They were truly soulmates.

Dad was endlessly serious when it came to his family, which was why I loved him. He always thought about us. Unlike in my past life.

“Uh… I just woke up… Is Mom in a lot of pain?”

I couldn’t answer right away. More than that, it was Mom. It was…

“Ughh… D-don’t worry, son… Mom’s okay.”

With a groan, Mom tried to reassure me, placing her hand on her stomach as she spoke with great effort.

“Mm…”

I couldn’t say anything else. All I could do was nod.

What could a four-year-old like me even do?

I felt useless.

I should have stayed quietly in my room. If I had, my parents wouldn’t have worried.

Why did my rational thinking slow down and make things worse?

“Haahhh!”

Mom’s pain was growing worse, and Dad was doing his best to support her.

All I could do was hold Mom’s hand.

My hand felt like it was about to break from the pressure of hers, but I knew it wouldn’t happen.

Thanks to the ambulance that arrived just in time,

Mom was quickly placed on the stretcher, and Dad followed behind.

Usually, Dad would have taken care of me first, but I guess he didn’t have time for that in the current situation.

As I watched them leave, I wondered.

Should I follow them? Or should I just go back to my room and sleep again?

I wanted to go after them, but I knew I couldn’t.

What good would it do?

So, I just stayed and watched the door close behind them.

Thud.

The sound of the large door closing, one I knew would never come from our house.

...A bad premonition.

With an unpleasant feeling, I furrowed my brows and entered my room.

In the corner of the room, I saw the drawing tools.

These were the ones Mom had been grinning about while shopping right after our visit to the art cafe.

Every day, she would say I was a genius, the reincarnation of Picasso.

I liked drawing, but I never had the desire to make it my job.

When a hobby becomes work, it can be one of the most painful things.

So, occasionally, when I got bored, I’d draw simple little signatures.

But I’d never once put my full effort into drawing at home.

Across from my bed was a desk. On it, a pristine white sheet of paper was spread out.

It was the paper that Mom had left there, thinking that someday I might want to draw something.

"...Should I start?"

The only thing I could do to help Mom was draw.

In the past, when I had no abilities, I would only draw boring pictures.

That was the kind of night it was, a night when memories of those times resurfaced.

Sitting at the desk, I took out the tools I’d brought from the corner of the room.

Starting with colored pencils, then crayons and pastels.

I picked up the colored pencils.

The picture I was about to draw would be clear, so I excluded the crayons.

And since pastels were light and would spread like powder, I excluded them too.

What was left was the sharp and distinct colored pencils.

When I drew, the pencil tip would dull, so I had to sharpen it again.

I always sharpened them with a cutter knife.

I laughed a little, but my eyes remained serious.

I moved my hand holding the colored pencil and smoothly drew a line.

The picture I was about to complete would, hopefully, be a good gift for my family.

For the soon-to-be-born sibling.

Blinking my eyes.

A four-year-old’s body is weak and tires easily.

In simple terms, it means I get sleepy quickly.

Even so, I forced myself to keep my eyelids open and kept drawing.

It was still too early for the dawn to break. It wasn’t even morning yet—it was still night.

But I felt like tomorrow wouldn’t be the right time to draw. There was a sense of discomfort.

It was also an attempt to shake off that feeling.

It’s hard to explain, but... it was just.

The fear of a miscarriage. The worry about Mom.

I was afraid something might go wrong.

She had already had a miscarriage once.

So, it was just... I was scared of that.

Tap, tap.

Drops of water fell from my cheeks, dampening one corner of the paper. Was it because of my sore eyes?

Ah, this will ruin the drawing.

The child's sobs mixed with the passing night.

***

Lee Ha-eun’s father, Lee Seong-hak, looked at his wife, who was sleeping peacefully.

He then glanced at the baby beside her and smiled softly.

Despite his face showing the fatigue of the day, his expression was full of joy.

"Good job, honey."

No one was there to hear him, but it was something he wanted to say again, even though he had said it many times already.

After their first miscarriage, Lee Seong-hak’s wife, Kang Eun-chae, had struggled for months.

Kang Eun-chae, who had been naturally frail, believed the baby had died because of her.

Lee Seong-hak had worked hard to calm his wife’s heart, and now, they were looking at their second child.

This child was now their first-born son.

Lee Ha-eun’s birth became a presence that helped alleviate Kang Eun-chae’s feelings of guilt a little.

Because of the trauma of her miscarriage, Kang Eun-chae almost became obsessed with her son.

Even Lee Ha-eun was born with a fragile body, so Kang Eun-chae stayed by her son’s side all day long.

I could understand her feelings. Lee Seong-hak, too, would keep his eyes on his son almost every day.

Lee Ha-eun’s existence brought hope, and the third child, whom they had longed for, was born today.

Her name was Lee Ha-yoon.

The name that their son had once thought of for his sibling.

It was a common name, but it was perfect. It was the first thing their son had wanted.

The couple agreed without hesitation. It didn’t matter whether it was a son or a daughter.

Kang Eun-chae’s bright smile when she gave birth to Lee Ha-yoon remained in their memories. She was a girl.

She was obsessed with Ha-eun, but she also regretted that it wasn’t as fun to tease him.

Lee Seong-hak chuckled and carefully patted his wife’s head as she slept.

For a moment, he wondered if their first daughter had come back to them.

At that thought, he made eye contact with the nurse who had entered the room.

"Oh! I knocked, but there was no answer..."

"Oh, sorry. I was just lost in thought for a moment."

"It’s fine. I was just checking on the condition of the patient and the baby."

Lee Seong-hak nodded and stepped outside the room for a moment. Looking out the window of the hallway, he saw that the sun was already high in the sky, and people were walking down the streets.

He stood there for a moment, lost in thought, before murmuring to himself.

"Thank you, son."

If his son hadn’t come to the bedroom that day, his wife’s stress might have been even worse.

The doctor had said that the mental factors had played a huge part and that it had helped a lot.

When he got home, he needed to make some spicy pork for Ha-eun...

"Huh?"

Lee Seong-hak suddenly had a thought and quickly changed his direction.

He went back into the room, left his wife and daughter with the nurse, and hurriedly grabbed his coat before leaving the hospital. The nurse looked at him with a confused and surprised expression.

It was already midday, which meant lunch time had long passed.

Their son was at home, probably hungry.

At four years old, there was no way he could make or grab something to eat on his own.

His steps quickened, and he successfully hailed a passing taxi.

His son, the biggest contributor to this entire event.

A deep frown appeared on Lee Seong-hak’s face.